


The Doodle

by Endangered_Slug



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Romancing the fluff, repeatinglitanies prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-21
Updated: 2015-03-28
Packaged: 2018-02-14 03:24:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2176236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Endangered_Slug/pseuds/Endangered_Slug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Repeatinglitanies prompted: Mr Gold replaces his borrowed library book with a new one. Due to its sentimental value, librarian Belle French is determined to get the original back. Unfortunately, Mr Gold is unwilling to return it due to accidentally doodling Belle’s image into it…</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Crysania](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crysania/gifts).



> For spottytonguedog, who was having a bad day.

The first thing Belle French noticed, besides the crumpled up, half-eaten sandwich (she so wished that people would stop using the book depository as a garbage can), was that the book at the top of the night drop box did not belong to her.

Or, rather, the book did not belong to the  _library_ , which was pretty much the same thing.

She picked up the slim volume of poetry, noting the crisp new pages and the wonderful new book scent she so loved (almost as much as that slightly musty, creased and worn,  _old_  book smell that surrounded her daily). There wasn’t a library stamp on the fore-edge or a bar code on the back cover (something she’d implemented when she took over as head librarian). She turned it over. And it was missing a call number on its spine. All in all, this was not her book. Which meant that  _her book_ , the  _library’s_  book, was still out. Flipping the pages, she found a note tucked in between the front cover and the flyleaf. Intrigued, Belle pulled it out (very nice paper, she noticed) and read:

Miss French,  
Lost the library copy. Have taken the liberty to replace it.  
Sorry for the inconvenience,  
—R. Gold

She frowned, weighing the book in her hand. She remembered now that Mr. Gold had checked out the volume on her recommendation. He’d had it out for ten days, well under the time limit for borrowed books. But he’d lost it? That didn’t sound right. Mr. Gold was as fastidious as she was with precious items and she knew from speaking to him that books were to be treasured.

At any rate, she had books to re-shelve. She placed the new book in the bin and rolled it to her desk tossing the sandwich into the garbage along the way.

The idea of the old book being lost bothered her as she checked in the night drop. She knew every letter of that book. It was the very first book she’d bought as a librarian and, as silly as it seemed, she loved it. It was thoughtful of Mr. Gold to be proactive in replacing it, but there were certain protocols about doing such a thing.  _And besides,_ she thought, glaring at the library cart, _he could have told me in person._

By the time lunch rolled around and she’d taken care of the few patrons that strolled in during the lean winter mornings Belle had made up her mind to pay a visit to Mr. Gold and get an explanation from him, one way or another. She snatched up the book and her purse and locked up tight, meaning to be back within half an hour, sure they could have things settled by then. And maybe he’d like to join her at Granny’s afterwards.

The pawn shop was as dark and gloomy as it ever was. Full of hidden treasures and sometimes outright horrors as in the case of those ghastly wooden dolls he insisted on displaying. Belle deliberately looked away as she made her way into the shop. The bell signaled her entrance but there was no “one moment, dearie,” coming from the back where, she assumed, Mr. Gold was working. It was unlike him to not be prompt in greeting customers. She spent a lot of time browsing the store and he always, always came out within seconds of the door opening.

“Mr. Gold,” she called out, craning her neck to see behind the heavy curtain separating the back workroom from the sales floor. “Are you in?”

She heard a muffled curse and what sounded like the clattering of his cane dropping onto the floor. Good, he was in then.

“Are you all right, Mr. Gold?”

“Fine! Fine, Miss French. Just give me a moment,” he said.

“Of course, Mr. Gold… take your time.”

She wandered over to her favorite display case and crouched down so she could see better. There was a lovely porcelain tea set that she liked. It was always there; no one in town could afford it probably. Next to it was a cameo of a woman in profile, which was new. She bent over more so she could get a better look at it, marveling at the detail.

“Oh! Sorry.”

Startled out of her thoughts, she quickly straightened up to find Mr. Gold just turning his head with a slight blush. She blushed, too, thinking about the position she’d been in when he came out. Then she blushed further when she noticed how well the extra bit of color complemented him. He was very handsome, she’d always thought so.

“Hey, Mr. Gold.” She pointed down to the cameo she had been admiring. “That’s lovely. It’s new isn’t it?”

His face brightened up, a smile playing around the edges of his mouth. “I just acquired it from an auction. It was part of a collection.”

She turned and looked for more. ‘I don’t see—“

“The other pieces are in need of repair.”

“Oh! I see. That’s what you were working on when I came in?”

He paused for a moment before answering. “Ye-e-s.”

“ I’ve always wondered, how do you know what to buy and what to leave alone? I mean, how do you know what’s worth fixing up?” she asked. Belle would dearly love to see his work space. If the front of the shop was full of delightful things, the back must be thrilling with stuff everywhere in various stages of repair. Maybe if she commissioned something he’d allow her back there. Or better, accompany him to an auction. That would be wonderful. But, she thought spending time with him was usually pretty wonderful as it was.

He shrugged. “After a while you can just,” he paused to think a moment. “You can just tell; but I think most anything is worth fixing up.” He gave her a half smile, setting aside the rag he was holding. “You needed something?” 

Belle remembered the book. “Oh! Right. I came to ask you about the book you checked out.” She pulled it out of her purse and held it up. “Do you know what might have happened to the old one?”

Mr. Gold seemed to fold into himself somehow. He looked down, fiddling with his cane. “No, I’m sorry. I seem to have misplaced it.”

He flinched at the small sound of disappointment she made.

“I did provide a replacement though,” he said, helplessly.

“That was very thoughtful, but you see there are protocols for replacing lost books,” she said, turning the new book in her hands.

“Protocols?” he asked.

“Yes. For one thing,” she explained. “You can’t just bring in any edition, it has to be exactly the same.”

“Why not?”

“Because we’re accountable for what we buy,” she said, putting the book on the counter. “If the book is damaged or unfit for circulation they need to be replaced with exact copies if possible; I can’t  _tell_  you how many times I’ve dropped a book in the bathtub—”

“If I found the same edition would it make it better?” he asked, cutting her off before she could elaborate..

“Well, yes, but, okay, this is silly, but that particular book has some sentimental value and…” she felt herself flush and silently cursed at herself. “The poems are kind of personal to me. I know the words are the same in the new book you bought, but I’d really like mine back. When was the last place you saw it?” she pleaded. “Can you remember?” 

“I, um…” he began then cleared his throat. “I think I had it at Louigi’s last. I must have left it there and someone must have taken it home.”

He still refused to look directly at her, hiding behind that fall of hair in front of his face, and that made her suspicious. Mr. Gold was always truthful. Always. No matter what the people of the town said about him, she’d never known him to lie, especially not to  _her_. She felt inexplicably hurt. Why would he hide the truth?

“You’re  _sure_?” Belle looked at him closely.

He quickly glanced up at her and nodded.

A slight lump lodged in her throat when she realized that was all the explanation she would get. A  _lie_.

“Okay,” she said, quietly. “Thank you for replacing it, Mr. Gold.” There was no getting rid of this frown. It felt permanently etched into her skin. “I’ll just go back to work then.”

She left the shop in a hurry, but trudged back to the library with leaden feet. It was stupid. So  _stupid_  to be upset over a book. She knew that in her heart, but the way Mr. Gold blatantly lied to her made it all seem worse than it probably was. And she’d missed lunch. Not that it mattered; she felt too sick to eat.

The next day started out much the same as any day, just slower and without much enthusiasm. Belle let herself in and turned the lights on. She put her purse under the circulation desk then went to check the night drop box for any returns or someone’s discarded dinner.

The only item inside the box was the missing book of poetry Mr. Gold swore he’d lost. She picked it up carefully. Maybe the person who’d found it had returned it? Or maybe Mr. Gold had a change of heart? No matter. She knew not to trust him completely now and that fact made her ache a little inside. She’d had such hopes…

She stroked the well-worn cover and immediately flipped to her favorite poem, then gasped.  _Someone_  had doodled in the wide margins. Just a quick sketch obviously, but so exquisitely rendered that there was no mistaking who it was supposed to be. That was her face in three quarter profile. She was  _looking_  at a beautiful drawing of herself. Someone had defaced the library’s book with— her  _face_. She couldn’t wrap her mind around it.

It was  _beautiful_.

Who would do such a thing, she wondered as she flipped through the pages, noting here and there that there were more sketches inside the margins, but she didn’t explore them further when another note fell into her lap. It was the same stationery that Mr. Gold used and she opened it with trembling hands.

Miss French,  
I must apologize for lying to you earlier when you came to me about the book. I had no idea that it meant that much to you and thought that replacing it would suffice. As you can see, it’s no longer fit for circulation, but I thought that you would want to have it just the same. I don’t have any excuse for what you’ve no doubt seen. Sometimes I doodle when I’m distracted or if I’m in a particular mood. Needless to say, I was both when I read the poems you thoughtfully recommended to me. Understand that I didn’t mean any disrespect. You are, in fact, someone I hold very dear. Please accept my humblest apologies and know that I will take great care in keeping out of your way in the future.  
—R. Gold

She blinked. That seemed a little extreme for a few doodles. She set the note aside and went back to the book, opening it at the first page and kept turning until she reached the first sketch.

Oh. That’s…  _that’s_ … well, that explained the letter. She took her time to look at what he’d done. He hadn’t drawn her in lewd positions; instead he highlighted her features in the sweetest way she could imagine. Each drawing fit neatly within the space left by the poem, using the lines’ undulation as a guide for his pencil. The curve of her cheek here, the funny way her nose widened at the end, the swell of her breasts and the way her rear curved to meet her legs just so— he’d even drawn her feet, she realized with delight when she recognized her favorite pair of spectator pumps.

 She should be angry. She should be outraged and on the phone to her lawyer, but Belle was nothing if not truthful with herself and she knew that the feeling bubbling up from her toes and swelling inside her ready to burst out into the world was unmistakably love. It was as if her restless night never happened and everything was right with the world again. 

She looked at the portrait done next to her favorite poem and studied it carefully.

He must have paid very close attention to her to be able to draw her so accurately from memory. 

She set the book aside and considered her choices. She could, obviously, let him avoid her for the rest of his life – no easy feat in this small town. Also, it was completely out of the question. She’d long admitted to herself already that Mr. Gold’s friendship meant more to her than anyone else’s in Storybrooke, she just hadn’t realized how much he meant to her until last night when she thought he callously lied to her. He’d written that she was dear to him and her heart swelled with the knowledge that this intense feeling inside her wasn’t as unrequited as she’d thought. 

She wanted to sing! But first, she had to talk some sense into him before he did something stupid, like move out of the country. It took some internal pep talking, but she figured that this was her opportunity and she needed to be brave enough to snatch it while she could. A phone call would do it, she thought. Confronting him face to face would be better, but she had a feeling he would be hard to catch in person.

He answered on the first ring, sounding absolutely wretched. “Gold’s.”

"It’s Belle French."

There was a sharp sound of him sucking in air. “Miss French, I—”

“I have a problem with some of these sketches, Mr. Gold,” she said.

“Yes, I know and I can’t apologize en—”

She interrupted him before he began to verbally castigate himself. “They’re inaccurate.”

He paused. “Pardon me?” he asked.

This was it. Now or never. She licked her lips nervously.“You see, Mr. Gold, I have this birthmark—” 

There was the sound of some fumbling and then crashing china. 

“Are you there?” she asked, concerned.

“Yes! Yes, I’m here,” he said in a near-panic because he reigned it in but she could still hear his nervousness and she relished it. “A birthmark you say?”

"Yes."

He was quiet for a long time. “Where,” he breathed into the phone.

“Under my right breast. It’s small.”

“They’re  _perfect_ ,” he blurted out.

Belle laughed. “I meant the birthmark”

There was a not-so muffled curse. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m flattered. And impressed. You’re very talented, Mr. Gold.”

“And you’re very understanding, Miss French”

“Call me Belle. If we’re going to be talking about my birthmarks you can call me by my given name.”

She could hear the relief through the phone. “Thank you, Belle. I’m Rhys. You may use whatever name you wish,” he offered.

"I like Rhys. It’s a good name."

There was another short pause then, “Did you say birthmarks. As in more than one?”

"I did. I have three."

"That’s… Good to know. One on your right breast…"

"Mmm."

"And the other two…?"

"Oh, those are even more hidden."

"Would it be forward of me if I said that I’d love to see them?"

"Maybe one day I’ll let you find them," she said, smiling into the phone.  
   
There was definitely the sound of a shaky breath being slowly let out on the other end of the line and Belle was feeling very warm herself. 

"Maybe we can start with dinner," he said after a moment, his voice hoarse with need.

"Dinner would be perfect," she said, relieved that he took the next step without any prompting. "We can take it from there."

"Where can we meet?"

"Hamburgers. Granny’s? Seven o’clock?"

"I’ll be there," he promised.

"So will I." she said, picking up the letter he’d written and gently folding it back up. "I’ll bring my new mixed media sketchbook! I can’t wait to show you my favorites."

 

 

 


	2. The Date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: How did Belle and Gold's date go after the events in ' The Doodle'? Did she maybe asked him to sketch for her?

Granny's was busy for a Wednesday night. The place was set for the dinner crowd with candles and waxed tablecloths set on the tables no doubt hoping to lure in customers looking for a sophisticated atmosphere.

Belle looked around the diner, nodding at several acquaintances, before finding Mr. Gold sitting in a booth in the middle of the restaurant. He wore her favorite suit — whether by design or sheer luck -— and a dark purple shirt that looked delicious on him and a tidy pocket square, perfectly folded, setting completing his outfit. His hair was carefully brushed, but nothing he could do, save for going to the barbers, would stop the way it fell over his face in a way that made her fingers itch. She pictured him, then, at his big, pink house, getting ready for her, fussing and planning and grooming the way that she did for him and a tiny ball of heat formed in her belly at the image.

She slid into the booth, deliberately not paying attention to the way the conversations in the place silenced briefly then picked up again slightly faster and louder than before, like gossiping chipmunks. She paid them no mind as she shrugged off her coat revealing the sheer blouse she'd carefully selected from her closet. She had several such shirts and wore them regularly, but tonight she chose the softest, most touchable blouse and paired it with the silkiest camisole she owned. Perhaps it was a bit wicked to provoke Rhys like this, but she wanted him to feel that ball of heat sitting low and heavy, too. From the way he softly gasped, it seemed to have worked.

She smiled at him sweetly.

There was the distinct sound of several pictures being taken and Belle figured she was officially the subject of town gossip. She wondered if patronage at her library would drop as a result of her dinner date.

To his credit he kept his eyes strictly on her face and not on her breasts and the hidden birthmark she made such a fuss about.

“Hey,” she said, feeling a bit shy now that they were face to face.

“Hey.” He fiddled with the menu in his hand a bit before firmly placing it on the table. “Thank you for having dinner with me,” he said after a moment of awkward silence. “You look... beautiful.”

She smiled at him, pleased that he was making the effort. “I'm very glad you asked. I was hoping you would for a while now,” she confessed, leaning over the table a bit with a small smirk.

“You have?” His eyes widened in shock, roaming over her face, searching for confirmation that this wasn't some mean prank.

She nodded sheepishly, picking up her menu and looking it over as if she didn't know every item listed already — Granny's menu never changed. “I can't draw though.”

He quirked an eyebrow at her.

“But I can recommend books in the hopes that maybe you'll come back to discuss them.” She met his eyes bravely

He blinked at her several times as the meaning of her words sunk in, a soft, shy smile quirking the corner of his mouth. Belle had never associated the word “adorable” to a grown man before but that the first word that came to mind. She figured there was a first time for everything.

“So,” he began. “All those books were...”

“Just an excuse to talk to you more.” She closed her mouth with a snap then shook her head. “Well, _no_ , I did think that you should read them, but I mostly wanted to talk to you. You are, um, also someone special to me, I just didn't think you would ever be... _interested_. In me.”

She shrugged sheepishly when he gave her an incredulous look.

“It was the only thing I could think of to make you want to come back.”

“You're the first person I've met who flirts with books,” he said with a laugh.

“Books and see-through blouses,” she clarified in a low voice, leaning forward conspiratorially. “Is it working?”

Then he did glance, briefly, down to her shirt, only to flick back up to her face. His cheeks flushed as he cleared his throat. “Better than you think,” he said, hoarsely.

There was the sound of another picture being taken from the booth behind her and instantly Rhys' face shuttered, his soft, wondering gaze hardening into the cool, neutral mask he habitually wore around town. Belle wanted to scream in frustration. Why couldn't people just leave them alone?

He smiled thinly as if he was only keeping himself in check for her sake and Belle wondered if he was mentally raising the rent of every single person in the diner. He picked up the menu again and glared at it.

Belle bit her bottom lip as she thought things over. Going out was a bad idea. They would never come to any real understanding between them if they were the spectacle of the week.

“Did you want to go to my place?” she blurted out.

Rhys looked up. “What?”

She glanced around quickly before turning back with frown. “It's just we don't seem to have much privacy here and their staring is starting to get on my nerves.”

“Did you expect anything different? I'm the town monster and people will talk. They're already talking,” he said, bitterly.

He looked down at his hands, which were carefully placed on top of the table. Belle reached out and put her hand on top of his, waiting until he looked her in the eyes. He did so sooner than she expected and that bolstered her confidence a bit.

“I don't care about what they think, Rhys, it's not that. But they weren't invited on our date tonight. Let's go to my place.” She squeezed his hands in encouragement. “Come on, I'll make us an omelette.”

“I love omelettes.”

“That's good!” She gathered her purse and coat and scooted to the end of the seat. She turned back when he'd made no move to join her. “Are you coming?”

“Absolutely.”

She smiled at him. “Then come on.”


	3. Chapter 3

 

Belle let Rhys into her apartment with a guilty smile.

“I didn't exactly clean,” she said, closing the door behind them. She pulled off her scarf, looking around at the various books strewn across every surface and the stray teacup lingering near a squashy armchair. She slid past him and quickly picked it up and pocketed it before he could notice, mentally trying to remember how she'd left her bathroom or if her entire makeup case was scattered everywhere and if there were splatter marks on the mirror. The confidence she'd felt in the diner was rapidly slipping now that she had him in her apartment and she wished she’d taken him to the library where she was sure of her footing and they were used to seeing each other. There was plenty of room in the Reference section for talking and… other things.

She took his coat, taking the time while his back was turned to quickly bury her nose in the collar. She didn't know what cologne he wore, but the way the spicy scent combined with his natural musk was intoxicating. She hung it up along with her own jacket then turned to her guest who was staring at her shoes.

“Rhys?”

He looked up at her, a faint blush spreading across his cheeks, which endeared him to her even more. It was delicious how flustered he became when faced with the reality of their situation. She wondered how far he would go to please her. She wondered how far she would let him. Pretty far she thought.

“Sorry,” he said, pink-cheeked, but meeting her gaze with bravery.

“Don't be,” she said, her confidence regained. Still, she hesitated a moment before she spoke. “Do you like shoes?”

“I... never really thought of it before,” he said with a frown.

“Mmm. Do you like  these shoes?” she asked, stretching out her leg, turning her ankle to display the vamp. She'd rather liked them herself and thought they did great things to her legs, which is why she wore them in the first place.

He glanced at them for a moment before slowly drifting up, dragging his eyes over her legs, up her body, lingering at her breasts — something she could forgive him for since she was wearing a see-through blouse and hiding a much talked about birthmark — before looking at her in the eyes again. “I do,” he said, a corner of his mouth lifting up in a nervous half-smile, but the truth lay in his darkened eyes. “They're very pretty.”

She bit her lip delicately as she contemplated what to do next. They were supposed to have dinner, but her appetite for food had gone out the window. She could play it safe, cook the promised omelet and make pleasant conversation followed up with a sweet kiss at the end of the evening before sending him home, or, she could grab him by that ridiculous purple tie and drag him to her bedroom like a caveman. Belle could admit to herself that she was tempted to see how far she could push the fearsome Mr. Gold before he turned to absolute jelly before her very eyes.

She didn't think it wouldn't be very difficult. The question was: which one of them would melt first?

Belle made a decision and turned around, taking a deep breath to gather her courage, then sat down on the couch, crossing one leg over her knee, right over left. She’d accidentally sat on her book, but if she moved, it would spoiler the effect. No matter, the book can wait.

He stood there, waiting nervously.

“Would you like to take them off me?” she asked.

He gaped at her, actually gaped, and she felt a jolt of power and need hit her soft and low in her belly. Yes, the omelets could wait.

She couldn't actually see the blood rush from his extremities into his cock, but she could pinpoint the exact moment it happened and the fact that it was the mere idea of a possibility that had that effect on him turned her on more than she thought possible. They hadn’t even kissed, she realized and yet she was ready to drop him to the floor and ride him like a bull. 

“May I?” he asked, breathlessly. He glanced up at her face, eyes darkened with a dazed hunger.

“Please do.” She gestured behind him, remembering his leg. “You can sit on the coffee table, if you want. I don’t mind.”

Rhys shook his head as he stared at her. “No.” He slowly dropped to his knees in front of her, setting his cane to the side once he was on the floor.

“Do you need a cushion?” she asked, her cool facade slipping in her concern. 

He merely shook his head with a slight, crooked smile. He reached up and softly brushed the tips of his fingers over her right knee, running them down to her ankle where he grasped her gently and lifted her leg up and over so they were no longer crossed. He set her foot on his lap and slowly traced the edge of her ankle strap until he stopped at the tiny buckle along the side. He took one more glance up at her, lightly flicking the end of the strap with his thumb back and forth, back and forth. 

“Are you ticklish?” he asked in a raspy voice that sent her heart thumping.

She didn’t hear him at first, then blinked twice before remembering to answer. “Yes,” she said, licking her lips. “Sometimes.”

“I’ll be careful, then. No promises,” he said with a quick smirk, his gold tooth flashing at her. 

His fingers were long and elegant and they nearly circled her ankle completely as he cradled her foot in his hand like a precious jewel. “Is it old fashioned of me to tell you that you have lovely ankles?” he asked her, once again with that small, lilting curve of his lips.

She huffed a laugh. “Perhaps, but there’s nothing wrong with being old fashioned is there?” 

He shook his head in answer and returned his attention to the strap around her ankle.

Her feet had never been an erogenous zone for her before, but, then, she’d never had a man on his knees worshiping them before. She could see the appeal of it now, in the way his face went slack and the way his eyes burned in concentration as he traced patterns upon her skin. His touch was like soft licks of fire and it took all her willpower to keep herself still while his hands were on her. They were calloused and rough, sending shivers up to her core as they ran along the length of her calf, up to her knee then back down again.

He lifted her foot and tugged on her ankle to encourage her straighten her leg out, then pressed the shoe firmly against the middle of his chest, as if he wasn’t wearing hundreds of dollars worth of clothes and she hadn’t just been traipsing down Main Street in those shoes. He leaned into her and she felt the hard spike of her heel dimple the expensive wool of his suit jacket. Belle made a shuddering noise of protest but he shook his head at her, silently, watching her from underneath the fall of hair and she relaxed. If he didn’t care about it, then she wouldn’t. 

Pressing his thumb against the end of the strap, he shoved it through the buckle where it made a small hill. Belle held her breath, wondering if he was going to use his teeth to pull it all the way through and, given the way his tongue flicked out, licking his bottom lip, she could tell he was contemplating it himself. But no, he merely unbuckled the strap and spread it open, frowning at the impressions the straps had left on her flesh. 

"Your shoes are too tight," he said, gruffly, obviously displeased to see the red marks. He did lean over, then, kissing her with warm, dry lips pressed softly against her skin. He glanced up at her, watching for her approval, licking his lips. "Was that—"

"Yes," she said, breathlessly. She probably looked ridiculous, slouched down on the couch with her skirt rucked up and her legs askew while he was still buttoned up to the neck with his tie and jacket still on. He could probably see all the way up to her underwear, but, so far, he’d refrained from looking. She didn’t care anymore, she just wanted him to keep touching her. "It's good." 

His smile was shy, but proud. “Good.” 

Belle expected him to take the shoe off then, but he merely ran the pads of his fingers over the top of her foot, warming her skin with each pass. Then, just as she was about to either kick him in the nose or tell him to get on with it, he slipped the shoe off her heel, bringing it down off her foot and set it aside without a glance.

He smiled at her plum colored toenails and she flexed her foot now that they were free from the shoe. 

“Beautiful” he murmured, kissing the top of her big toe then quickly jerked away when she jumped. “Careful,” he said, giving her a glimpse of a wicked smile before faltering into a self-conscious bashfulness that pulled at her.   
“Sorry,” she said, breathlessly. “I wasn’t expecting…”

He shook his head helplessly. “That’s okay.” He pressed her foot between his hands and rubbed his thumbs along her arch and she closed her eyes and moaned. “Good?”

She cracked her eyes open, peering at him and giving him a sultry smile. “The best. A girl could get used to this.”

He caught his breath, then, and he looked at her in awe. 

Belle nodded at him encouragingly and nudged his thigh with her other foot, still shod and wanting attention. 

He took the hint, lowering her bare foot to his leg then gasped, startled, when she moved it higher up his lap until she came into firm contact with his straining erection.

His hands trembled as he took her other foot and quickly unbuckled it, discarding the shoe next to its mate before leaning his head back, eyes closed and mouth dropped open in a silent scream. She wasn't doing much, merely tracing her toes over the rigid outline of his cock. It was hot through the fabric of his trousers and twitched with every downstroke and she suspected it ached. 

"Belle," he whispered, putting a shaking hand on her foot to still it. "Stop. I’m gonna—" He bit back the end of the sentence in a painful groan. “Please!”

She considered ignoring him and continuing with the teasing, but she stopped because he'd asked and because she wanted more than just a quick foot job on the couch. 

"Rhys," she said, waiting for him to look at her and when he did, she nearly gasped to see his eyes black with desire. She leaned over and picked up his hands, putting one on each leg and then sat back, spreading her knees wider. 

"I can't believe this is happening," he whispered to himself, running his hands up her thighs, catching the fabric of her skirt between his fingers and thumbs where it bunched as he dragged it higher. His breathing became labored and sweat dotted his brow, glistening in the lamplight. 

He stopped when he reached her hips and he ran his thumbs lightly over the fleshy part of her inner thighs, sending tiny, shivering shocks to her center.

"Rhys," she said, gaining his attention from his rooted gaze on her silky underwear. She knew they were soaked and she knew that he would see it and know that he'd caused it to happen. 

"Yes, Belle?" he asked, hoarsely. 

She moved her panties aside, exposing an inch or so of that soft triangle of skin on her pelvis, and showed him, laying her hand flat against her mound, her pinkie hooked into the edge of her underwear and her middle finger on her clit where the weight of it nearly sent her over the edge. 

"Is that—" he swallowed, breathing heavily. 

"Yes, that's one," she said, lightly tapping her finger against herself once, twice. She gasped and bit her lip, wanting to squirm against her hand, wanting to grab Rhys by the hair and shove his face where she needed it the most. 

He licked his lips, glancing up at her. "May I?"

She nodded her head, scooting down further until she was nearly straddling his face. His hot breath washed over her thighs as he moved his head closer, watching her face for any sign that she wanted him to stop. Belle didn’t want him to stop, she wanted him to hurry, but Rhys had other things in mind as he softly pressed a kiss to the small birthmark — no bigger than her pinkie nail. She gasped, again, and arched at the electric shivers that shot through her. 

“Touch yourself,” he whispered against her skin, stroking her lightly, teasingly, with a flick of his tongue.

“Wha—”

“Touch yourself. Let me see you. Just like this.” Again he licked her birthmark, harder this time, and Belle’s fingers began to work in earnest. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered against her thigh, nuzzling it with his nose. His hair brushed up against her sensitized skin, teasing her as he moved closer still until his mouth was pressed up underneath her working fingers which were rubbing, rubbing, rubbing the soaking fabric against her fleshy nub. He was saying something, murmuring things she couldn’t hear through the rush of blood pounding in her ears, but she could feel them, the vibrations of his voice mixing with the sensation of her fingers moving against her clit. It was becoming too much and she tried to close her legs around his head needing to either grind down on him or move away, but his hands on her quivering thighs became gentle vices that kept her spread open before him. He licked at her with the flat of his tongue, tasting her through her panties, using his teeth to scrape along the sides.

She was able to make out the words, "so good," before she broke apart feeling the pull of his mouth as he sucked on her. Her orgasm surprised her in its intensity leaving her gasping and crying out to Rhys, her fingers twined through his hair, holding his head against her as she rode it out. 

When she released him, he scattered tiny kisses along her skin before laying his head down on her thigh so he could look up at her with adoration. She pushed his hair off of his face, running her fingers through it, enjoying how soft it was and how nice it felt against her skin. His face was flushed and his mouth was glistening with her juices and she longed to kiss him, to taste herself on his lips and she reached down to help him off the floor and into her lap when he drew back, licking his lips. He glanced at her, smiling softly before rising to sit down on the coffee table she’d offered earlier. He’d tried to hide his erection, but Belle had noticed and she thought of several ways she could help him with it. She smiled back at him eager to get started.

Rhys cleared his throat then took a deep, shuddering breath. “Do you have your book?” he asked, his voice dry and gravelly. 

That was… not what she was expecting. “Hmm? My wha-?”

“The book of poems," he reminded her. His coloring had returned to normal and he looked almost as cool and collected as he usually did if it wasn’t for the way he kept licking his lips.

“Ye-yes, it’s right here,” she said, digging it out from underneath her thigh and handing it to him. 

He took it from her and flipped to a page without a doodle on it then he reached into his inside jacket pocket for a pen, uncapping it with his teeth and deftly maneuvered it over the page with quick, precise movements. 

Belle sat up straighter and tried to peek, but he held the book to the side, giving her a stern look, which was offset by the pen cap still in his mouth. 

A few strokes later and he was done, setting it aside and capping his pen. "It needs to dry first or else it'll smudge," he told her, calling his pen and returning it to his pocket. 

"I should probably go," he said, grabbing his cane and hauling himself up. 

Belle didn't want him to leave, she wanted him to spend the night where she could peel off his clothes inch by inch, but she nodded her head. She got up, too, wobbly and shaking still, yanking her skirt down primly and smoothing out the wrinkles a bit. She followed him to the hallway where he retrieved his coat and then to the door where he stopped in the hallway, turning back to her.

“What about…” She gestured to his crotch. “I mean, I’d like to—” reciprocate was the wrong word, but she didn’t know what else to use. 

He chuckled, shaking his head, hesitating a moment before leaning over to kiss her on the corner of her lips. It was the first time they’d actually kissed and the first physical thing that he’d initiated.

Oh, no he didn’t. She grabbed at his tie and hauled him in for a proper kiss, sending a sliver of need curling up from her toes. He gingerly wrapped his arms around her, still unsure of his welcome and if she hadn’t already dispelled the idea that she didn’t like him or want his presence then she didn’t know what would. "Rain check?" she asked him, holding him close.

“Really?” he asked, surprised, pulling back to look at her.

“Yes,  really .” She smiled up at him. “I don’t know what you’re thinking, Rhys, but I like being with you. I like—” she bit her lip thinking her words over before looking at him shyly. “I like the idea of us.”

His eyes glistened and he blinked a couple times before responding. “I like the idea of us, too, Belle.” He leaned down and captured her mouth once more, sighing gently before pulling away with a smile. “I’ll… I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Of course,” she said. “I see you every day.”

He nodded, then, “The ink should be dry by now,” he said and then, when she looked toward the coffee table, he pecked her on the cheek and slid out the door. “Tomorrow,” he called out.

Curious, she took the book of poetry and looked at the new drawing, laughing to herself. Of all the material presented to him that night, he’d chosen to draw her feet. 

Belle made her way to the bathroom to get ready for bed and to plan her outfit for the next day. She had a very nice pair of patent leather pumps she was dying to show him.  

 


End file.
